


Predation

by Lightspeed



Series: Monstrous Intent [3]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Anal Sex, Drug Use: Amyl Nitrate, Knotting, Large insertions, M/M, Monsters, Werewolf Sex, Werewolf!Demoman, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sniper is a collector of experiences, a man of interesting, unusual tastes.  In a world where magic runs rampant, monsters walk the land, and spirits are as real as you or me, pursuing a fetish for the exotic becomes a far more interesting, dangerous concept.  Discovering a monster in what is essentially his back yard, the bushman goes looking to add another experience to his collection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Predation

Sniper slung his pack over his shoulder. It was bulky, his camping pack along with an extra duffel weighing him down as he rushed through the halls of the base towards the exit of the base at Sawmill. Night had already fallen, and he had to move if he wanted to be sure he'd have time before sunrise.

Standing by the door, Medic and Engineer leaned against the wall expectantly, anticipating his approach. The lanky gunman's bootfalls could be heard echoing rapidly down the hallway of their base long before they caught sight of the blur of blue and brown heading their way. His arms crossed over his chest, Medic looked down to his companion, who nodded up at him, then called out to the approaching Sniper. “Woah, Stretch! Where's the fire?”

Slowing to a jog, Sniper ground to a halt before them, his breath a little heavy, a wild look in his eye. He seemed anxious, rushed, almost nervous. “Er, jus' headin' out to the woods, Truckie.” He nodded a greeting to Medic as well, “Doc. It's a lovely night, you know. Figured I'd camp out under the stars since we're not fightin' tomorrow.”

The doctor's jaw jutted out as he chewed on the inside of his lip, disbelief clear on his features. “Sniper, you are a terrible liar. Why would you leave to set up camp at midnight?”

“Oh, ah, it's midnight already? How time flies when you're packing up, eh? Surprised to see you lot up so late. What's got you awake?” Change the subject. Yes, good.

Medic simply shook his head. No dice.

“What's going on, Slim?” Engineer implored, crossing his arms. He and Medic stood beside each other a matched set, arms crossed, standing straight, two pairs of blue eyes boring into Sniper with a mixture of accusation and curiosity. “We're worried about ya. Seen you runnin' around gettin' somethin' ready in the middle 'a the night. You can understand our concern."

"Look, it's pretty outlandish, I doubt you two would really understand. My reasons, they're... well, they're bloody weird."

Engineer held up the hand he kept under his rubber glove and wiggled his fingers, the servos and workings of the Gunslinger surprisingly loud in the quiet hallway. He looked pointedly to Medic, who had been absentmindedly cleaning blood from under his fingernails.  
"Alright, I see your point." Sniper looked about conspiratorially, as if they were being observed, then leaned in a bit. "Past few months, there's been howling out in the woods."

"Wolf population growing? You plan to thin it out a little?"

"No. Wolves are pack animals. The howling has been one voice."

"A lone wolf, then?" Medic offered.

"Wolves are pack animals. If there were wolves out there, it would be a group, howling together. The problem is, it's only at specific times."

"What do you mean?" Engineer leaned forward, thoroughly curious.

"Every twenty-eight days."

"The lunar cycle. Are you suggesting we have a werewolf living in the forest?" Medic's eyes went wide with a mixture of scientific interest and mild skepticism.

"Exactly," Sniper announced, holding a finger up and shaking it to punctuate. “They're not unheard of in the States, though they tend to stick to the Great Lakes area. Rare to find one ranging this far south.”

"I haven't seen a werewolf in almost fifteen years," the doctor replied with a wistful smile. "It was sad, really. We couldn't find a cure, and it turns out the vivisection was wholly unnecessary."

Both of his companions stared for a moment, unsure of how to react. Finally, it was Engineer who broke the silence. “So you plan ta hunt this fella? Seems dangerous for a one-man operation, Slim. Maybe you want some help out there?”  
“Nah, I don't plan on firin' a shot unless I have to. I've got other plans for him.”

“Such as?”  
“I'm gonna shag that werewolf.”

The silence returned, stunned and confounded, thick as paste in the empty hallway. Engineer blinked several times as if it would clear the crazy from his mind. “Did I just hear you right?”

“I warned you it was weird.”

“That seems rather unsafe, to say the least,” Medic began, stroking his chin. “I'd assumed you were a man of eclectic tastes, Sniper, but bestiality?”

“It's not bestiality, Doc.” The gunman frowned, offended by the implication. “Werewolves are people same as you or me, just afflicted. There's still human intelligence under the violence and fur. And I'm not the first one to do it. Me an' a few mates from me time in Bangkok, we used to make a thing of it. Huntin' down supernatural creatures and tryin' to catch a shag. We kept journals, swapped stories over drinks, had a time of it whenever we were in town. I've got quite a book meself. Lizardfolk, yeti, owlman, vampire, ya-te-veo--”

“Ya-te-veo?” Medic's curiosity was obvious. He was very interested in his friend's strange endeavors.

“Er, yeh, it's a man-eatin'-tree. Though it's been found if you satisfy it first with a sacrifice of some big livestock, it's a lot more suggestible, if you take my meanin'. A lot of its tendril branches are smooth, so you just have to prepare like mad first.”

“A tree?” Engineer was incredulous. “That couldn't be sentient?”

“Not sure about that one, but, well, it's a story I had to collect, Truckie. Just like last year when I disappeared for that week? Turns out there's a bloke who's just tentacles below the waist living in an underground lake near the dustbowl. He's a fine shag.”

“I can't believe what I'm hearing here,” Engineer ran his hand along his shaven head, unsure of how to handle this strange information.

“So will you be the first to bed a werewolf, or has one of your friends managed the task before you?” Medic asked, ignoring the laborer's reservations.

“Only one of me mates managed it before me. Two tried, but, ah, poor Frank got torn limb from limb. He should've known better than to try and top a wolfman. Besides, he was always impatient, didn't learn you have to finesse this sort of thing. He didn't plan enough.”

“And this is planning?” Engineer motioned to Sniper's packs.

“This is all of me camping equipment,” the taller man nodded his head at his backpack, then lifted his duffel, “This is all of me lures and self-prep equipment. And some food to lure 'im in.”

Engineer gaped, shaking his head. “There's no convincin' you not to do this, is there?”  
“Not really, no. Always wanted to bed a werewolf. When I first got into this it was my dream.”

“It is certainly an interesting dream, Sniper. I hope you'll share details when you return, if successful.” Medic grinned, amused by the whole thing.

“Just,” the sigh that escaped Engineer slithered from him, long and weary. “Just try and stay in respawn range, just in case, Slim.”

“Should be fine. I'll do that for ya, Truckie.” The bushman smiled and clapped his teammate on the shoulder. “Right, I'd best get moving. I have to get to the location I've scouted, set up, and get my lures and self ready.”

“Weil glück.”

 

 

Setting up camp had gone rather quickly. His movements plotted, his location scouted, Sniper's van sat in the trees at the edge of the small clearing he'd decided on for his location for the night. A small, crackling fire issued smoke up through the trees into the open sky above, the moon and stars shining away into infinity overhead as the red and orange of the open flames lit the ground below. Over the low fire, a spit spearing a chunk of beef skirt sat half-tended, the savory scent of roasting meat drifting into the cool night air. Beside the fire, on a large blanket sat Sniper, nude, rifling through his duffel bag. He began to withdraw his supplies. A large bottle of lubricant, a large butt plug, a latex glove, and a small bottle of amyl nitrate he had neglected to inform Medic that he had nicked from the infirmary. He grinned, surveying his tools, and turned to the fire, the sizzling beef skewered above it. The scent was on the air, thick and mouth-watering. There was no way the beast hadn't smelled it by now. It would draw him in, giving him the chance to work his own enchantments. Pulling the spit from the flames, he set about having a quick dinner.

 

 

Meat. Flames. Smoke. Burning fat. Scents trailed on the soft night breeze in colours unseen by the senses of man, far from the original site, borne aloft on gentle winds and through the grasping trees. There would be a meal in that direction, and hunger gnawed, yearning in endless, empty, needful depths. There would be fire. Caution would be the best method, but the intoxicating bouquet of the roasting beef was enough of a motivator.

 

 

 

Sniper tossed the spit aside, wiping his mouth on his arm. Rolling onto his back, he looked up at the sky. It was beyond late. The moon had begun to wander toward the horizon, and he had begun to grow restless. It was time to begin. His hand slid down his belly, between his thighs, to lightly tug at his manhood, slowly beginning to grow as his anticipation welled in his gut. He rolled onto his side, hitching one leg up, his hips turning to allow him the best access he could. Snatching up the latex glove, he snapped it on, and grabbed for the lubricant. He was generous with the slick liquid, coating his fingers and spreading it between his cheeks, rubbing around his entrance. A deep breath found his finger sliding into himself, quickly joined by a second to open himself up. Fingers scissoring, relaxing his muscles, his breaths drew in slow and deep as his eyes squeezed shut. Removing those fingers, he tosses the glove aside and snatched up his toy, squeezing a thorough coating onto the plug. He climbed onto his knees and squatted as he held the plug against the ground. He began to lower himself onto the toy, reaching back and spreading his cheeks open as he felt it begin to press in. His moan was exaggerated and loud, uncaring of his own modesty as he impaled himself on the fat plug, sliding it into himself with practiced ease. When his bottom met the blanket, he went still, shivering at the intense fullness, his head thrown back to the night sky. He began to lift, then dropped again, slow, shallow thrusts to encourage himself to stay open wide. The gasps that crossed his lips hissed through the trees all around, nearly drowned out by the crackling of the dying fire beside him.

 

 

Pheromones. The scent on the air was far more than food, which had begun to fade, probably eaten long before the smell had caught wind. But this new scent, closer, more intense, was far more obvious. It was a smell of sweat, of sex, of strange plastic-smelling liquids and of latex. Familiar scents, all, but most poignant was the scent of man. Gentle moans caught the ear, drawing the predator in. If it was not a meal, then it would be a mate.

 

 

Shadows crossed the tree line, a great blur moving silently into the clearing. By the time Sniper had roused from his reverie long enough to look around, he saw the massive form before him. His eyes went wide, his jaw slack. The beast was here.

He was enormous, and frighteningly broad, even hunched as he was. Muscle covered the creature, covered in a thick, shaggy layer of fur blacker than night, his hands ending in wicked claws. His face was lupine and proud, a single yellow eye looking down at him. The other eye was missing, closed and useless. Bits of blue fabric clung to him in places, with shredded white cuffs around his forearms where sleeves once lay. The beast snarled almost in amusement, in recognition, and released a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl. Motes of blue light trailed from the corner of his eye into the air, fizzling out of existence inches from his face. A chunk of blue fabric fell from his fur, landing on the blanket in front of him. On it, a yellow circle was printed, the image of a sticky bomb in its center.

Sniper jawed uselessly for a moment, realization setting in. He knew this beast, this man. “Demo?”

The creature's growl subsided, his maw falling open, his tongue lolling out in a wordless pant. He approached slowly.

“You can't talk, can you, mate?” the gunman queried.

The werewolf that was Demoman shook his head emphatically, and warbled out a whimpering series of sounds that were almost barks. It was the best his mutated vocal chords could manage. He shrugged a bit afterward, as if to say, “See?”

The sight of a werewolf shrugging was an absurdity not lost on Sniper. He looked down at himself, at his nudity, at his still-present hard-on, his current state of penetration, and grew red. Suddenly the idea of shagging a werewolf was less appealing when he'd have to see that werewolf at work the next day. “Er, I expect you'll want to know what I'm doing out here, like this, right?”

Demoman shook his head again, and craned around to indicate the bushman's backside, an eager look on his lupine features. It was then that he stood up on his hind legs, letting Sniper behold the full might of his muscular frame, standing easily over seven feet, and the rather stark erection standing proudly between his thighs. It deflated the Australian a bit to see it was far more human in shape than monstrous. He'd been hoping for a phallus just as exotic as its owner. Gulping deep, he looked Demoman in the eye, and reached back to pull the plug out of himself with a groan. He picked up the lube. “Mind if I?”

The great beast before him shook its head, and Sniper quickly squirted a healthy amount of the slick gel onto his cock, seeing it twitch at the temperature difference. He steeled himself, dropping the empty bottle and turning about, presenting to the werewolf standing above him. He braced himself.

It was not an easy entry, by any means. Falling to all fours atop him, Demoman pressed into his slick entrance eagerly, untroubled by the mewling whines emitted by the man below him. Thick, wiry fur brushed against Sniper's back, his bottom, his shoulders. The werewolf's size bore down on him, pressing him down so that his bottom was the only thing in the air, the great beast's cock sliding deeper and deeper inside him.

Air became an alien concept. Sniper forgot to breathe. He forgot to blink, he forgot to swallow, he forgot to do anything but lay there clutching the blanket beneath him for dear life, that overlarge shaft skewering him. When he felt furry hips reach his own, the full length of Demoman deep inside him, he finally remembered everything. He remembered he was more than just the yawning, aching fullness, the shivering bloom of his own lust and mental surrender to the realization of his own fantasy. He gasped for air, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking. He gulped down the saliva that had begun to pool in his mouth.

Then all at once, his breath hitched again. He could feel the intense fullness growing, tightness overwhelming him, just inside him. A thick knot of muscle formed near the base of Demoman's shaft, inside of Sniper. It grew, wide and hot, tying inside him, binding him into the Australian with a size unanticipated. He was locked in place, and Sniper had discovered what was so unusual about a werewolf's dick.

The bushman whined, his groans somewhere between pleasure and pain as the knot stretched him wide, holding the enormous cock inside him. "Fuck, mate, could'a warned me," he gasped, writhing beneath the great beast, trying desperately to adjust to the sheer size of his insertion. His eyes squeezed tight, his teeth clenched, he reached for the bottle of amyl nitrate he had left to lay on the blanket beside them. Fumbling, his hands shaking, he opened the bottle and took a deep huff of the fumes of its contents. Flinging it aside, he felt the blood rush to his head, his body growing slack, his muscles relaxing. The pain subsided as his anus loosened around Demoman, the pleasant head rush only taking him further from his discomfort. "Should help," he mumbled, his face pressed into the blanket.

Demoman, having stalled, his claws buried in the dirt to keep himself steady as Sniper adjusted to his size and the knot, took a deep, relieved breath. There was only so much he could resist his urges, so much he could control the animal that clung to his mind like a sticky, greasy film, dripping into its wrinkles and cementing the cracks together in a flush, smooth plane of instinct and impulse. Given his chance, he growled, bearing down on Sniper even further, pressing hard against his body, and began to thrust. His strokes were shallow, but harsh, unable to draw out and in as he would like as a man, held fast with little room to maneuver by the great knot at the base of his shaft.

His groans growing louder, gasping little grunts punctuated with longer, whining moans when a hard stroke caught him just right, Sniper's face and chest ground into the blanket, his hands balled into fists, his whole body trembling with realized desires, yawning horror, and infinite delight. The thick, long member inside him filled his insides to capacity, and each violently short thrust shook his whole body, loosed the voice from his throat, and claimed him as the great beast's mate. Drool pooled on the blanket under his face, but he was long from caring, the growling, snarling monster atop and inside him drawing all of his attention. Pressure welled in him, echoing through him, reverberating through his whole body, the yearning, niggling slithering of a body nearing its breaking point. One hand unwrapped from the blanket, shakily making its way beneath himself, his unsupported hips held aloft by sheer bloody-mindedness as he was assaulted from above and behind by the werewolf that was his lover. Trembling fingers wrapped around his cock, and he tugged on it for all he was worth, his wordless pleas muffled by the blanket below, drowned out by the increasingly vicious snarls of the rutting monster. It didn't take long for Sniper's release to rocket from him with force and fury, his keening, ragged cry a sad, needful, desperate thing; his hot come coating his hand and the blanket beneath them. He tugged out every last drop of his orgasm, his slick hand pulling long after he'd finished, coaxing overstimulated mewls through his lips while Demoman's pace only quickened.

Short, hard, rough thrusts became something more furious. Bearing down, Demoman's hips slammed against Sniper with each entry, punishing the smaller man who used him as much as he was using him. The intoxicating little sounds issuing from the human he rode were a powerful aphrodisiac for the great beast, his own growls growing more powerful with his ardor. The clench, the spasms, the orgasm that wracked Sniper's body around him, were too much to take. He slammed in one, twice, and reeling back, came with a howl that split the night, echoing off of the trees, each branch, each leaf, into the night sky above. He cried his release to the heavens, to the stars, to that damnable moon that controlled his very existence, long since lost from sight in the small clearing. He sang the song of his mate, of his joy, of his claiming of the poor creature speared upon his mighty anatomy. The winds carried his message to the lands around, to the forest, to the grass, to the distant buildings of the Sawmill.

Sniper shuddered, feeling the throb of that mighty phallus within him as Demoman emptied his seed into the boneless bushman, pumping over and over its heavy payload, filling him when he was sure he couldn't contain any more anything. The heat flowed longer than he could have anticipated, and the slick sensation inside him filled him with a mixture of disgust, surprise, horror, and arousal. It was a lot of come. In spite of the knot plugging him, he felt a small trickle from behind him, some of the great beast's fluid leaking out of him and down his taint. He gulped, feeling his mouth watering all the more.

The monster atop him relaxed, coming down from is high to pant heavily behind him. A mighty, furred, clawed hand gently pressed against the Australian's shoulder, Demoman letting out a soft whimper as if to ask if he was alright. Sniper, his body heaving with breaths he wasn't sure how to take any longer, nodded as best he could, "Aces."

Demoman made a contented sound, though he did not exit the bushman's body. He couldn't, his cock still knotted tight, overlarge inside of the smaller man. It would be some time before his body relaxed. Wrapping great, furry arms around the exhausted human, he pulled him close, careful not to cause him any undue pain from the continued insertion, and rolled onto his back, letting Sniper lay atop him, staring up at the stars.

Sniper settled comfortably onto the warm, furry beast, his belly rising and falling with his deep, fast breaths. He was having more than a little trouble calming his own body while still so impaled. "So, this goin' to take a while?"

Demoman made the best affirmative sound he could muster, making the gunman shrug.

"Could be worse, I s'pose. You been a werewolf for long, mate?"

The noncommittal sound the great wolf made indicated a middling time frame, to Sniper's assumption. Those muscular arms slid away from the tight hold they had on the slim bushman, mighty hands tipped in sharp claws resting together over his belly. He picked at Demoman's claws, the haze of his orgasm and the slow ache of his bottom beginning to return to him.

"Surprised you didn't tell us. Could've been something we could help out with. Or sic you on the REDs," he mused, poking the tip of one sharp claw with curiosity.

Demoman whimpered, the high whine of his missing voice showing his dislike for the idea.

"Ah, you're right. The Doc would 'ave a field day with you. Scout wouldn't leave you alone. Heavy wouldn't like the idea of someone being bigger and scarier than 'im, right?"

The beast below him shook in what he figured was silent laughter, panting quietly into the night.

 

 

 

Several minutes passed, the night rolling away before their eyes as they gazed up at what remained of the stars. Reds and purples began to crest over the tree line, the moon long gone, having retreated to the horizon some time ago. Dawn was approaching, even as Sniper could feel the tissues inside of him untying, the knot in Demoman's length loosening, easing his poor, sore entrance. More come began to leak from him as the plug holding it back began to shrink, and it was simultaneously nauseating and erotic to the exhausted assassin. Somewhere at the back of his thoughts, he seriously questioned his unusual sexual tastes. That thought was quickly silenced as the clawed hand atop him gently stroked his belly, soothing him.

Demoman knew how strange a feeling it must be to be knotted, let alone to have to wait to disengage. The sheer size of the member penetrating his teammate was bad enough, but then to have it grow and lock him on, it must have been one hell of an experience. Not to mention the sheer volume of ejaculate inside of Sniper thanks to him. Tilting his head back, he could see a warm orange bubbling up along the horizon, peeking through the trees, and closed his eyes. He couldn't really smile yet, but that would come soon enough.

He felt his body begin to shrink, slowly, beneath the supine Sniper atop him, his hair receding quickly in some places, slower in others, growing curly where it would deign to remain on his human form. Wiry black fur gave way to warm, brown skin pocked with old scars from cuts, bullet wounds, and burns. The lupine muzzle receded, giving way to slim jawline, proud nose, and full lips. Claws became calloused, warm hands holding Sniper as the cock inside him finally flagged and fell out of him. Come leaked out of him a little, but he tried his best to keep it inside, his aching pelvic floor clenching hard. Demoman shook with laughter, wrapping his arms back around Sniper to hug him close, tightly, without fear of hurting him. Soft kisses assailed the back of his neck, ear, and shoulder.

"Back with me now, mate?"  
"About bloody time. Hate that I can't talk like that. You alright, lad?"

"Fine. Sore. Really sore. But I'll be fine." Sniper, once the hug had eased, rolled off of Demoman to lay beside him, turning to look at the naked man beside him, a light sweat beginning to sheen over his skin. "How about you?"

"No worse for wear. Used to those stupid transformations by now. I'm a mite hungry, though," he laughed. "Cookin' up a steak and eatin' it all, ye cruel sod."

"Needed a way to get your attention, is all."

"Well ye got it," Demoman laughed. It was good to be able to speak, to be sure Sniper was okay. He sat up, scratching the back of his head, his unruly curls sticking out at all angles in a way he was sure was not nearly as attractive as he'd like. He plucked an errant leaf from his hair and frowned at it. "So what is this going to mean for the job?"

"What do you mean?"  
"We just shagged out in the woods, lad. And ye ken me secret. Any chance I can trust ye to keep it?"  
Sniper grinned, his sharp teeth catching a glint of the grey-orange morning light just right to look almost fierce. In fact, Demoman couldn't help but think his teeth looked a little sharper than usual. "Any chance we can do this again sometime?"


End file.
